


The Whip

by confiscatedretina



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Blood, Gen, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 11:58:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4018861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confiscatedretina/pseuds/confiscatedretina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are captive for reasons unknown and all you can do is watch helplessly as a friend is tortured in front of you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Whip

**Author's Note:**

> Another fill for the [kink meme](http://homesmut.dreamwidth.org/40248.html?thread=46684984#cmt46684984).

His scream cuts through you like a knife and you can't look away. The whip comes down again, making him mewl like a kitten. Blood ghosts over your glasses.

"Please, why you are you doing this?!" you gasp through your tears.

Dave twists against the ropes holding him up, blood spider-webbed across his bare white skin. He lost his glasses at least an hour ago; they lie in a puddle of dried blood by his shaking feet. You'd barely had a chance to meet his gaze when they'd fallen off before his face had crumpled into a mask of pain. It all seems so long ago. Now his blood is spattered over your shirt, your face, crusted into your hair. You can taste the iron mixed in with the salt of your tears.

Neither of you knows why it's happening. The figure holding the whip, hidden in shadow, has not spoken a single word. They bring the leather down with such precision that it's drawn a sobbing gasp or wailing cry out of Dave's body long past when his ability to speak.

He was brave at first, cursing and snarling as his skin cracked. Then he begged, cried out every secret he had. You did, too, and still the torture went on. You think he's going to die soon. There's hardly a visible patch of skin left on his back and ribs. Beneath a few puffed, bruised lacerations you can see the pallor of bone.

Another blow slaps across his shoulders, the whip's dripping edge cutting a gash in Dave's cheek. He doesn't make a sound as his legs give out, the ropes holding him by the wrist digging fresh blood free as all of his weight hangs by them suddenly. A last well-timed lash cuts the rope over his head and he falls with a wet crunch. A bloody hand grabs his hair and throws him into your lap.

The door to your cell slams shut and you are left in silence punctuated only by the faint drip of blood off the whip hanging somewhere in the dark. Dave makes a minute, hoarse sound, muffled by your leg. He begins to cry again, a tiny, whimpering noise. You wish you could touch him, stroke his hair, do anything to ease the pain. You can't even bend far enough to press your lips into his matted, bloody hair; the collar's chain is too short.

"Dave," you whisper, voice cracked. "Dave? Please..."

His cheek is cold on your skin, a trickle of warm blood sliding over your knee from his broken nose. More from his back sticks you to the floor. You don't even know if he can hear you. All he does is keen, soft and anguished. The sound begins to ring in your ears until it swallows you whole.

The keening voice is yours now. Realization crawls over you slowly as a hand touches your shoulder, warm and cautious.

"Jade?"

Your soft cry is choked off and you lunge toward the body beside you, fingers digging into a sleep-rumpled shirt. Tears spill fresh and hot down your cheeks, soaking into the fabric like blood. Arms wrap around you and a ragged wail claws out of your throat. You feel tear drops landing in your hair. A hand strokes your shaking back, careful to avoid the rumpled scars on your neck where you once strained too hard, too long against a collar which held you back.

All you can do is shiver and sob and try not to remember the sound of leather cracking against flesh.


End file.
